


Long Live the Bun King

by proser132



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, Rabbits, because when you're a giant rabbit (even if you're a giant rabbit alien), headcanons galore, that puts you in charge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 16:57:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7370131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proser132/pseuds/proser132
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>E. Aster Bunnymund fully intended to live out his life in his Warren alone. The rabbits of the world disagreed with that plan. And they were not the last (nor the most beloved).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Live the Bun King

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rin0rourke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rin0rourke/gifts).



> A short, fun thing written for a friend, mostly because I giggled myself stupid over the idea of Aster surrounded by rabbits and pissed off about it because they loved him so much, and the idea was her fault in the first place.
> 
> Something to smile over whilst I work on finishing up my current big projects and move on to the next ones.

Aster is wrist deep in yet another flower bed when he hears it. The many and varied pattering of paws, dashing off towards the east entrance to the Warren. His ears snap over in that direction, his eyes following a split second later; sure enough, he sees today’s herd rushing past.

It started a long while ago, he thinks. He’s not sure where on the vast timeline of this planet when it first happened; he has trouble keeping count, most days, and is largely content with simply saying ‘a long while ago’ for most anything prior to the Guardians. His life is measured in three ages, never mind what Shakespeare says: the Golden Age, his youth and arrogance (though he was already long an adult by the time that ended); the in between, grey years of busy work and grief that even now he doesn’t choose to linger on in any detail; and the Guardians. Colour and light in his life at last, when he’d thought it all burned out and crushed down into a dim neutron star. He’ll never say, of course, but it’s true.

Sometime in the grey hollows, though, they first began to creep in. At first, he’d been annoyed by it, frankly. It was sort of insulting, a pale mockery of what his people had looked like. It happened on all planets, though, especially ones as diverse as this; it was always a toss up as to what would become the dominant species. The Pooka had been lagomorphs. Here, it was primates. Simple matter of chance, really.

That said, there were still common configurations, and though Aster knew at a glance that these were never going to evolve in the same way his people had, it had still felt like a body blow, seeing the long ears and the thick fur, almost like kits in their size. He’d shooed them away, and tightened the wards.

It didn’t stop it.

It didn’t stick strictly to the many and varied form of rabbits, either. A handful of the smaller marsupials found their way down, as well. Finally, after what had probably been a millenia or two of it, Aster gave up, and just accepted that these dratted things (he wasn’t  _ fond _ of them, what on earth were you on about) wanted to be here, near him, and would do as they damn well pleased.

Save for some of the marsupials, who never left, it was an ever-changing collection of who was in the Warren at any given time. Some rabbits, so far as he could tell, were perfectly happy for a jaunt into the Warren (however the hell it was they were getting into his tunnels would forever be a mystery) and then to return from wherever they came. Some came during lean seasons, or the winter - his ‘herd’, for lack of a better term, was always larger during the Northern Hemisphere’s harsh winters.

They were helpful things, when they weren’t eating his veg (they quickly learned what they were allowed to fossick for, and what they weren’t). Minions, almost. They’d settled in, once Aster wasn’t trying to actively kick them out, and though Aster would still get a pang sometimes when he looked at them, they lived in a strange sort of peace.

This lasted well into his Guardianship. He’d had little reason to think it would ever change.

Then. Oh, then.

He watches now as the herd - ranging from those bloody bilbies  _ (he isn’t fond of them at  _ all) to household rabbits to wild hares - streaks on by, and sits back on his haunches, shaking the loose soil from his paws. Only one thing makes them move en masse like that.

The herd is larger than the average; it’s winter up north, though it’s edging towards spring with an ever quickening step.

The first time Jack Frost came to the Warren when it  _ wasn’t  _ an emergency was a disaster.

Not for Jack, mind you, but for Aster. It had taken him  _ months _ to get Jack to stop calling him the Bun King. And here was the thing: all the little creatures who called the Warren home were fond of Aster, to be sure. Aster suspects it has something to do with being lagomorphic himself; they look at him and just sort of see the ultimate leader. Which, he admits, makes Jack’s initial assumption - not  _ wrong,  _ per se. Certainly annoying.

But for all that they were fond of and followed Aster, they  _ loved  _ Jack.

Maybe they saw something long before Jack or Aster could. Maybe they simply had excellent taste in people (only the bravest few remained around whenever North lobbed in, for example.) Whatever the cause, they would swarm him whenever he entered the Warren, down to the meanest, leanest old hare, and cuddle up to him and demand his attention.

Aster was a bit miffed about it, initially. He had his favourites, of course, and often that extended down the family line - there were bloodlines that had been absolutely delightful companions for thousands of generations. But even he sometimes couldn’t tame the most wild of them, and was content with their occasional acknowledgement and grudging respect.

But, Jack.

He had some sort of gift with them, with all animals; not a power as a spirit, just a natural affinity. They gravitated to it, to his soft words and scritching fingers, and were happy to purr with their teeth beneath his palms, no matter how fiery.

Aster was miffed until he realised that he had a natural alarm now whenever Jack attempted to enter the Warren, and would never be caught offguard for a prank. Jack might be loved, but he didn’t command an ounce of Aster’s authority and could almost never get the damn things to leave him alone.

‘It’s cramping my style, Bun-bun,’ Jack had complained one afternoon. ‘I can’t sneak up on you at all - I’ve always got a tail.’

Aster had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, mostly because he knew that was what Jack had been angling for, and it was fun (he’d not had so much fun in so long, he’d almost forgotten how) to frustrate his efforts. That, and it was very difficult to take him seriously when he was all but buried in rabbits.

He stands up, and leisurely strolls in the direction the herd has gone. He has time; the herd will keep Jack busy for long moments, and Jack is a sucker who always obliges them.

The thing is, Aster is not an animal. No more than any of the humans or any of the other species he’s met in his long life; which is to say, of course, that all but a very select few were animals, at the heart of it. And in some ways, that never disappears.

So when the herd gravitated towards Jack freely, happy and aware and joyful in his presence, Aster’s gravitation was so much more subtle, so much more furtive. He’d not noticed the way Jack’s voice would go soft for him, too, though in a different way than for the Warren’s other inhabitants. He’d not noticed the way fingers, a different count than his own, so slim and pale and dexterous, would brush past the edges of his fur and curl into themselves half a second later, as if delaying their own urge to clutch until they were out of reach.

He’d not noticed, because he’d been so busy praying  _ Jack  _ wouldn’t notice the way Aster behaved towards him.

Aster’s never been the greatest with other life, with people or animals; he’s better with plants, with their complex ecologies and interactions so different from the complex ecologies and interactions of thinking, speaking folk. He understands them, understands the kind of sustained care, maintained gentle touch that they need.

When he realised that, for whatever reason, Jack was responding to that, he’d all but panicked.

Time spent alone had altered who Jack could have become, but Jack didn’t mourn it, and so neither did Aster. He wasn’t quite like Tooth or North, or any number of humans or human spirits Aster had interacted with over the years. He needed a different kind of touch, a different kind of understanding.

Aster had never thought himself particularly thoughtful - especially when it came to other people - but the sort of things he did naturally seemed to have a positive effect on Jack. There was always something to eat, in the Warren - Aster didn’t believe in set mealtimes, instead eating as he grew hungry. Neither did he believe in set sleeping hours, napping as he was tired and staying awake as long as he felt fine, often wherever in the Warren looked most comfortable. These both meant that  _ Jack _ could always rely on something to eat, and a safe place to sleep. Aster hadn’t realised that both of those had been luxuries for Jack until the bloke had awkwardly tried to thank him for them.

Spirits didn’t tend to need to eat or sleep the way the living or nonmagical did, but it didn’t mean that the desire wasn’t there. It had been a natural extension of that, to Aster’s mind, to then keep more of the foods Jack liked around, to keep clear the sorts of branches Jack seemed to favour for his brief but deep catnaps. He’d not been thinking of it as some kind of favour - just what he’d had to do to provide what was needed.

Then he’d realised that he was  _ providing.  _ For  _ Jack.  _ Who slept safely in his Warren and ate his food and had his own spaces, who spent his time there keeping Aster company and talking and helping how he could, and somehow like the rabbits before him had found his way into Aster’s life.

Jack lived with him now, for better or ill, and Aster’s first thought, quick and ashamed, was  _ sweet novas, it’s like he’s me  _ partner  _ or something - _

And then - fine. He might have panicked. A bit.

Pooka taking partners of other species had been fairly commonplace - had to be, when they spent their lives so far apart, and roaming the stars. That wasn’t an issue. What  _ was _ an issue was how much of this  _ wasn’t,  _ and Aster had no way to tell if his affections were returned. And they were affections, no doubt about that. He might be dim enough to not recognise them for what they were at first  _ (putting about me own Warren like an oblivious ratbag, honestly),  _ but once realised, there was no denying them. He felt as though he  _ should _ be, if only because of course Jack would - humans weren’t far behind where the Pooka had been when they’d first taken full time to the stars, perhaps one or two centuries away from true space travel in the most sensible form of space-distortion, but socially there were still… complications. Many of them weren’t aware sentience in other species existed at all, much less in the sense of similarly built, compatible (ahem) species. Plus, Aster was male. Identified as male, though Pooka were shapeshifters, and so the actual plumbing, so to speak, was flexible (if you chose to have any at all). And same-sex relationships still weren’t entirely accepted, though the spirit half of the world was much more understanding than the mundane half.

Like they’d been waiting for Aster to pull his head out of his arse (which they damn well might have been), the rabbits chose then to make their move.

Aster crests the last hill between himself and the eastern entrance, and snorts loudly. As predicted, the herd has crowded around a hunched over spot of blue, and the sounds of hundreds of bodies jostling together to get nearest the centre is audible even over the remaining distance.

Jack had returned to the Warren from some trip or another, when the rabbits acted at last. Aster thinks that it must have been winter then, too, because the herd had been one of the largest ones he’d ever seen. Though, that had been perhaps because they’d all banded together; his rabbits (blasted things,  _ he is not fond of them)  _ have always been wilier and sneakier than he ever suspects.

The herd had gone stampeding past, and Aster had gotten up and followed, because he was hopelessly in love and utterly incapable of not doing so. He’d been surprised, then, to find the rabbits chivvying Jack towards him, who looked as bewildered as Aster felt but going along with it, small furry heads butting at his calves and one young rabbit cradled in his arms.

‘New greeting style, Cottontail?’ Jack had asked.

‘I have no -’ Aster began to say, but the rabbits by Jack’s feet darted out in front, just as the young one in his arms scrambled up out of his hold. She skittered up his shoulder, around a bit to his neck, and then leapt down to the ground - conveniently shoving him forward just as the rabbits near his feet pushed him back.

Jack, as the rabbits had  _ clearly  _ intended, tripped. Aster, because he was an overreactive, overprotective mate who had so far been trying desperately to ignore his own instincts, reached out and caught him.

It could have been an utterly mundane moment, if Aster hadn’t overbalanced, dragging Jack in, and toppled backwards himself. He was certain he’d felt  more than one kick at his legs, though, so he somehow doubted it had entirely been a miscalculation on his part.

They hit the ground in a tangle of flailing limbs and shouts, surprised; Aster had found himself pinned awkwardly underneath Jack’s weight, who was surprisingly solid for being such a slip of a thing.

If it had been left to Aster, he would have scrambled away as soon as the shock was past, apologising and then spending the rest of the day chasing the rabbits, who had scattered as soon as they began to fall. As luck would have it, Jack recovered from the surprise first; Aster saw the moment when Jack took stock of where they were, what had happened, how they had landed and the way Aster’s hands were still clamped tightly on his waist.

‘Oh, fuck it,’ Jack had said, and leaned down, and kissed Aster full on the mouth.

Aster draws up on Jack in the moment, who looks up from his surrounding admirers, and grins brightly.

‘Hiya, Bun-bun,’ he says, smoothing his hands over a blissed out brown and white rabbit that Aster thinks is one of the regular escapees - jumps out of his cage at home, trots down for a while, and returns when he’s had his fill. ‘Finished winter up early - climate wasn’t agreeing with my plans. They’ve really got to figure this one out.’

‘They do,’ Aster agrees, crouching down. The rabbits clear a space for him. Since he and Jack started their thing some years ago, the general mood has been more affectionate towards him. To Aster’s credit, they’re more likely to listen to Jack now, as well. ‘Ye know they will, though.’

‘Yeah, but I’m impatient,’ Jack replies, and Aster huffs out a laugh that he tries to make sound more gruff than it wants to be. ‘You, hush,’ he commands, and Aster rolls his eyes. ‘Alright, guys, time to clear out. I’ve been gone for like two weeks, we need alone time.’

The rabbits hem and haw and take their time, but soon all that’s left is the one stubborn brown and white rabbit. Aster gives him a stern look, and he flounces off, clearly miffed. He meets up with the black and white rabbit he usually travels with, and they hop off - presumably towards wherever home is, for them.

‘Alone time, hm?’ Aster asks, when he looks back to Jack.

‘Yep,’ Jack says. ‘I need a nap. Wondered if you’d like to take one with me.’

‘Reckon I could take time to do that,’ Aster drawls, and stands, holding out a paw. Jack takes it, smiling brightly, and lets Aster draw him in until he’s tucked under a warm arm, his own hooking around Aster’s waist. ‘Later, let’s get some food in ye, ye’re looking -’

‘Peaky, I know, Tooth said the same thing,’ Jack says, rolling his eyes. He turns his face and kisses Aster’s shoulder. Aster hugs him near and chins the crown of his head.

It’s been a long time since the Warren was empty - the rabbits and the bilbies see to that. But Aster’s always relieved when Jack returns; he’d never keep him in one place. It’s not in Jack’s nature. Still.

‘I’m glad to be home,’ Jack murmurs softly.

Aster thinks that Jack brought home with him, and only smiles in reply.


End file.
